Afflicted -Harry Styles Fanfiction-
by cheylenoir2013
Summary: Sofia Adams is an eighteen year old star. She's been dealing with fame and it's side effects since the age of fifteen, and she knows all the curves and bends. But when the side effects of her fame become too unbearable, she turns to ugly decisions. And, the only thing that can help her is a slow-talking, raspy sounding, hipster British guy, also named Harry Styles.
1. Prologue

**Note: **Rated R subjects involved (cutting; self-harm; starving one self, etc). This book is the first in a series, named "FAME". For more information, PM me. Thank you. -Chey xx

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**Prologue**

There's always been a point in someone's life where nothing seemed to be better, where nothing could make it better. In that point, everything in their world is perfect and it couldn't make them happier then they already are. That's pure content in that small moment when they realize all of this, the sudden rush of happiness.

But before that rush of happiness, before that point, there's always been those hardships that led you to that point, whether it be your boyfriend breaking up with you, your parents divorce, or someone in your family (or possibly a friend) dying from cancer. Whatever it is, that certain hardship drains you of energy, and nearly kills you.

And for me? It was my fame.

Being famous was always something I dreamed of when I was a little kid. I would dance around in a colored tutu, and a pair of vibrant sunglasses and sing my heart out. And finally, when I reached the age of fifteen, I managed to catch someone's eye. I was flown out to L.A, and just like that, my career began.

It wasn't until two years into my career that I began to really get hate and death threats. In the beginning, they always fame would affect me one way or another. But the death threats that got worse as the years passed, I didn't believe that it would get that bad.

But still, I moved on as if it were nothing. I tried to keep my chin up, and stay strong throughout the whole fiasco, but eventually, I just gave up. It wasn't just a spontaneous one night decision either.

I cared less and less as the days grew by. I stopped being nice to fans, and I started snapping and giving out these bitchy, sarcastic remarks, even in interviews. For months, years even, people wondered what the hell was wrong with me. None of them, no matter how hard they tried, could figure it out until it was too late.

None of them knew that the fame had ruined me, that the hate and death threats sent me to my room crying every night. Nobody knew that I was almost past the point of no return - nobody, but him, my own savior.

When the scars appeared on my wrists, and my waist and pants size grew smaller and smaller, he's the only one that noticed and tried to stop me before my body was being buried six feet deep.

When I enrolled myself months later into a treatment center, they all put the pieces together: my own fame, and hate had hit me like a wrecking ball.

They always said fame would affect me, one way or another. I just never realized it would affect me in this way.


	2. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1:**

"Sofia, you can't be doing this all the time!" my manager –and uptight, strict aunt– cried out, her voice turning to a shrill sound. I barely even cringed, used to this tone of voice. However, despite my uncaring atttitude, she continued. "You need to show the public you're not a bitch. You whine because people send you hate, and death threats, but I honestly think you deserve it! You are being a brat."

_ Yes, because being told to go jump off a bridge, to drink bleach or to cut my wrists is totally rational and the right, and mature thing to do,_ I thought bitterly.

Okay, yeah, I might be the biggest and a world class bitch most of the time. Some of the things I said was out of line, I can admit to that. And, maybe telling a fan to fuck off when she wanted an autograph and picture was unforgivable, and wrong... but in my defense, I had gotten three hours of sleep and had horrible cramps. I wasn't a happy camper that day.

Instead of giving Aunt Delilah the satisfaction of her being right, I inspected my nails carefully, and pretended not to care about the subject. "Yeah, well, being a bitch is better than showing the world who I really am."

"Oh, god forbid that the world finds out who you really are," Aunt Delilah glared at me as sarcasm dripped off her tongue.

I chuckled. Sarcasm – my aunt loved it.

I rolled my eyes. "So, what? I flicked off Mary Rose Thrawndoe, it's not a big deal. It's not like my career depends on her."

"No," Aunt Delilah said slowly. "But her neice does! Her niece is Harriet Thrawndoe, the woman who is going to critic your next concert. Did you forget that little piece of information? Your attitude towards Mary Rose is going to reflect your critique, Sofia Adams!"

"Woops," I mumbled quietly.

Sometimes, I admit, that my decisions were painfully wrong, and did mess up my career, like the sex tape that leaked out when I was sixteen. Oh, the media had a field day with that one. That's when my whole 'facade' started. I pretended to be a careless bitch, because that way, I would get hurt a lot less. It was a way of protecting myself from the hate, and the terrible things people said to me.

Admittedly, being told to drink a bottle of bleach because no one wants me around anymore was a little hurtful, even for me. Sometimes, when I scrolled through the hate, I always wondered how people gathered the guts to send a hate message like that. What if I actually did decide to drink a bottle of bleach and kill myself? Would that make them feel better, that their hate did cause my death? Or would that make them eat their guilt by the pounds?

Either way, I was not a fan of sending powerful hate like that. I may be a bitch, and heartless too, but I did have a line I didn't cross, and hate messages like the ones I recieved were just that line. Wishing someone to die was too much, even for me.

"Sofia Grace Adams, are you listening to me?" I heard Aunt Delilah say.

I glanced up at her, her harsh tone and angry expresion not fazing me. I raised an eyebrow as Aunt Delilah peered down at me. I knew I was pushing her buttons, and soon she'd blow up any minute, almost like how Harry Potter blew up his Aunt Marge. At the memory, I chuckled only made Aunt Delilah's face turn which in turn caused her face to turn redder than it already was.

"Sofia Grace Adams-"

I cut my Aunt off as I glanced at my phone. "Oops, gotta run, Aunt. Ella has to be picked up from Mom's house."

Just as I was about to leave her two bedroom apartment, I heard her say, "You know, if you put in as much effort into your work and fame as you do Ella, I guarentee you people will like you a whole lot better."

I quietly closed the door behind me as her words echoed in my brain. The sad thing was, I knew my Aunt was a hundred percent right. I put way more effort into Ella than my own job.

_Well_, I thought slowly,_ Ella was my eleven year old sister._

An image of her appeared in my mind, and I couldn't help but smile. Her dirty blonde hair reached her shoulders, curling ever so slightly. Her set blue eyes were rounded like mother's and were framed with thick, dark eyelashes like father's. She was beautiful for an eleven year old, and almost seemed like a fourteen year old, if I didn't know her any better.

Not only was Ella beautiful and quite mature for her age, but she was a sassy thing. She didn't take no from anybody, and if she heard someone talking crap about me, you better believe that she'd set them straight and make sure the didn't say another bad thing about me. For an eleven year old girl, she was very protective of her eighteen year old sister.

Ella was my first priority in life, and then came work, and other miscellaneous things like Aunt Delilah for example (I never cared for her much anyway, but she was high on my list because she kept the money coming in, and my music as best as it could get).

But Ella was high on my list for a specific reason.

Before I even became famous and started making music and movies, we made a pact that no matter what happened, we would stay sisters throughout this. As close sisters, we were going to make sure we didn't lose each other for a stupid reason, even if it was because of my fame.

Now three years later, that pact was still as strong as it was made on that foggy morning just hours before my flight out to L.A. Ella and I were almost like best friends despite our seven year age difference. I would prefer Ella as my best friend if I had it my way. But then again, there was still Tatiana in my life, the best friend that Management gave me.

Tatiana was everything I despised. She had stringy blonde hair that's been dyed one too many times, and long acrylic nails that usually had gem-stones and an animal print on them. Her tongue was pierced –which I've always thought was a disgusting piercing and by far the worst to get– and she had a horribly tattooed tramp stamp. She wore what she called vintage clothes, but were actually horribly designed clothes.

Tatiana was still my designated best friend since I couldn't technically befriend anyone outside management, work, and family. Management forced her upon me, and if I messed up anything with Tatiana, trust me, Management would have my hide as a rug, or have it hung up on a wall. Management was keen on getting me a better image.

Soon, I was in my newly bought silver, Hyundai Elantra. It still smelled like new car, as the car fresheners I kept buying never worked. It didn't help that it was still spotless as the day I got it three weeks ago. Throwing my purse onto the passenger seat, I quickly glanced at my incoming texts, looking only for Ella's name. When I found it, I pulled up her unread message.

Ella– I'm mad, Doofus is throwing low blows at you in front of me. You need to hurry please, before I snap at Doofus and Mom kicks me out... Ugh, I hate that damn cow-lick of his! Hurry! xx

I chuckled to myself as I shook my head.

Doofus was Mom's boyfriend, Michael Simmons. Ella only called him Doofus because she had a strong disliking towards the guy. So did I, but I didn't feel the need to call him Doofus; plus that was more or less Ella's thing and I didn't want to take it away from her. But regardless, he had a nasty habit of talking behind people's backs –mostly mine, but he still does it to everyone–, he had a gross cow-lick, greasy black hair, and a wart on his jaw where it was perfectly noticeable.

How my Mom cheated on Dad with him, I will never know. If I were her, I would have stuck with Dad as he was described by multiple women, "tall, dark, and handsome". Yes, my dad had light eyes, and the great, run-through-your-fingers hair, and was as tall as some basketball players, and a lot of women had lusted after him, but I never saw him as handsome. I only saw him as my Dad who's always supported my decisions whether they were wrong or right.

Biting down on my bottom lip, I shoved my phone inside the left pocket on my purse, and inserted the keys to my car. Within seconds, I heard it purring to life. I turned on the radio, and began to pull out of the parking lot, heading in the direction of my mother's house, which surprisingly was just a few blocks down from where Aunt Delilah stayed.

Aunt Delilah and Mom never got along well as sister-in-laws, and to know that they were staying so close to each other made me wonder if they were tearing at each other's throats each day. But when Dad questioned Aunt Delilah, and I questioned Mom, they both replied that they didn't even talk to each other, much less see each other or breath the air they both shared.

I cringed when I heard a familiar song start up. Almost instantaneously, a free hand reached forward and turned it to a different station, one that didn't have boy-bands playing on it so often.

I wasn't a big fan of boy-bands, not since I was a little kid. They were so alike in their appearance, music and intentions. No boy-band, including One Direction, proved me wrong that they weren't a cookie-cutter pop, boy-band.

That's why when news of One Direction came to America, I cringed and blocked out their music as much as I could. No matter how much I tried to block them out and retain them from my life, and career, I couldn't. I've met them once at the VMA's and I made sure to make myself seem as horrible as possible so there was no chance in meeting them again in my future. But their fans –as crazy, rude, and impossible as they were– just kept bringing their success right up! Eventually, I was forced to listen to a few of their songs.

If I did have to admit to liking at least one of their songs, it might be "Little Things". It was a perfect song written by Ed Sheeran, and showed girls that they were perfect as they were. They didn't need to change for anyone, and that was one of the bigger things I believed in.

I found myself only moments later in my car sitting idily as I waited for Ella. I knew she'd be watching for me through one of the many windows. Like predicted, I didn't have to wait long for Ella as she came running out of the front door seconds after I pulled up into the driveway.

Ella quickly sat herself in the passenger seat, out of breath from the quick run. She flashed me a smile as she reached over and buckled herself safely in the car (one thing we've learned from both our parents was that we didn't go anywhere inside a car unless we were buckled up).

"So," I grinned at her dirty blonde curls resting on her shoulders. "How was Mom's? Did she take you to any fashion shows, or tea parties with her married friends?"

Ella's baby blue eyes darkened as a frown replaced her smile. That was the only answer I needed from her, but knowing Ella and the boring events Mom put her through, Ella began to rant, her hands and arms animately moving as her eyes twinkled, not with delight, but with anger and irritation.

Like the good sister I was, I nodded and hummed in all the right places. I agreed with her on some things, like how Mom literally dragged her out of the car to see a pair of animal print heels. I disagreed with her on a few things, but seeing as Ella was only an eleven year old with very strong opinions, I bit down my words and kept them at bay.

It was a total of twenty minutes in the car before I pulled up in front of my condo. It was just on the edge of town, and it was in a perfect spot that I couldn't love more. My condo had a clear view of not only the city, but the beautiful water in the distance.

I shared a grin with my sister, as we both grabbed our belongings –her backpack, and my purse– and left the car, locked. There were a great team of security guards guarding the condo simply because not only did I live her, but so did a few other celebrities. I smiled at the one guarding the gate, and headed inside quickly, wanting to get out of the spotlight of the media.

I hated being on the front cover of magazines, the top news story on gossip TV shows, and even on gossip sites online. It had sent me into a slight panic, and frenzy. Since I became famous, I had easily dealt with all the things of becoming famous like the hate mail sent daily, or the fans and paparazzi constantly following me. The one thing I had never come to terms with was that there was a possibility that someone would have the ability to attack me in plain sight.

With me being so publicly followed, fans, papparazzi, security guards even, there was always a possibility that I would be attacked, and not in the best way either. Having someone tug and pull at my hair, or scratch and scar my arm, or even kicking, stabbing or even shooting me sent me into a frenzy that almost no one could calm me down from.

My breath was rising in my chest, and my palms were clammy and sweaty. I was gripping tightly onto my purse, almost so hard that my knuckles were turning white. My body was tense and rigid, and I found difficulty breathing as Ella and I passed through the doors.

"Hey," I heard my eleven year old sister say, her voice soft and tender. "Sofia, it's okay, you're at home. No one can really bother you here, alright? And if anyone besides the residents come here, the security will triple check they're with the residents. You know all this. Come on, deep breaths, Sof."

I was close to tears as the thought of someone barging in on my own home and attacking me ran through my head. My heart raced inside my chest at a fast rate, one that couldn't slow down. I managed to lay against a wall as I felt my knees give out. I crumpled against the wall, and felt the tears run down my cheeks.

"Sof, you need to breath!" I heard my Ella shout, her hands on my shoulders.

I looked at her, my eyes wide with panic. "I can't," I shook my head, the tears rolling down my cheeks one by one. "I can't, I can't, I can't."

Panic attacks like this one would happen every so often, but lately they've occured less and less. Maybe it was the paparazzi I spotted just around the corner from the condo, or maybe it was the occuring thought of someone attacking me and hurting me when I entered the building.

Either way, something triggered it and Ella was left with the task of calming me down. Her hands on my shoulders only made me feel worse, as if someone was attacking me. Even though she was trying to be as soothing as possible, it only made me cry harder in my hands.

Hiccups left my mouth, and I knew I was crying too hard and that I needed to calm down fast. I was freaking Ella out, and I knew that as well. As hard as she tried to keep the panic down at bay, I could see the fear in her eyes. I could also feel the slight shake in her hands. She was trying her hardest, I could tell.

But then I felt a pair of familiar warm hands on my shoulders, and a force pulling me upwards. The hands on me no longer belonged to Ella, but rather a middle aged woman who knew my panic attacks well enough. She was the mother of a celebrity, all too familiar with panic attacks caused by the mediea, and other things.

"Shh, darling," I heard her warm, soothing voice in my ear. "It's okay, you're not going to be harmed here, not with me around."

There was something so soothing, and protective about Elma that soon, my tears and sobs were quieted. My hiccups occasionally came, my chest jumping slightly against the woman's aging body, but she didn't mind. She held me tighter against her. There was something about Elma that calmed me down whenever my panic attacks came. Maybe it was the fact that she resembled a mother bear, so dearing and kind but ruthless and scary when it came to her child. I felt so protected around her, there was no need for the panic attack.

When I finally pulled away from Elma, I smiled warily at her. "Thank you," I murmured. "I don't know what I'd do without you, Elma."

"I know that, sweetheart," she smiled at me, her grey eyes softening. She's always had pretty grey eyes, they were almost like the calming fog on a chilly, Saturday morning. So calming, and quiet.

There was one thing about Elma that made me love her even more. She didn't believe that my public front was the real me. She knew very well that I was hiding who I really was, the person I managed to shove in a hole six feet deep. Elma didn't get to meet her, but she knew that the real me was buried deep inside.

"Now, are you okay?" she asked, tucking away a blonde strand of hair behind her ear. Her eyes stayed on me before saying anything else. She was so sturdy, and calm, I felt immediately better.

I nodded my head slowly as a few more word were exchanged. Finally, as Elma walked away towards the exit of the building, I tangled my fingers in with my sister's smaller hands, and led her up to my condo wordlessly.

Before I unlocked my door, I looked down at her, grinning, "I think a nap for the two of us is in order."


End file.
